Tuesday, 29 April 2014

After unceremoniously being dumped by her boyfriend, Cass
Kelly has had enough ofmen and the big
city. She needs a change and a challenge.On a drunken whim, she accepts a job working in a small hotel in the
outback town of Mundabucka.Men? Who needs .them? Sex? Never, ever again.

Local cowboy Evan Bates is not one to say never and makes it
only too obvious why she needs men, sex and him specifically. The redheaded
Cass is in his sights and he aims to get her. But lust isn’t the only thing
stirring in town. It’s the annual
Throcker Thrash where legendary gold is hunted and Cass is caught up in the
race for it. Who wants it so badly they’ll kill for it?

Excerpt....

Two hours later, standing at the local airport at Mundabucka with a
suitcase in one hand and two cackling caged chooks in the other, Cass looked
around her. Behind her was a rusted-in-parts, corrugated tin shack that served
as arrival and departures for the overly optimistically named Mundabucka International
Airport. In front of her
was dry, red dirt as far as the eye could see. And the heat? Suffocating.
Unlike Cairns
it was a dry heat that sucked all the moisture out of a body. Cass felt the
sweat dripping down between her breasts and clinging to the short floral
sundress she was wearing.

She put both the suitcase and chooks on the ground and re-scraped her
hair up into a haphazard bun on top of her head. “Frig, it’s hot.” Cass looked
around her. Other than the squinty-eyed airport controller, who introduced
himself as Phil, there was no one. She was supposed to be met by someone called
Evan. Phil smiled when she told him this.

“Evan’s a creature of whim. He gets the call of the wild and takes off
just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

Cass was impressed as not only was Phil missing two front teeth but also
three fingers on his left hand and two on his right. He explained this as a
‘run-in with a pissed off wild pig.’

She looked down at the caged chickens. “Okay, so maybe this wasn’t a
brilliant idea but it’s not my worst.” They cackled loudly. “Oh, shut up. I
know what I’m doing—kinda.” Cass muttered under her breath and looked around
her once more. There was loads of nothing for miles. “Where the hell is he?”

“Who?” came a voice from behind her.

Cass spun around in surprise. “Where did you come from?” She asked as she
surveyed the tall, lanky man with broad shoulders that most men would kill for.
She looked into the bluest eyes she had ever seen and saw only amusement.Men. Amusement. Not happening.

“You’d be the city chick here to work at McNally’s Hotel.”

City chick?“I’m Cass Kelly and undoubtedly you’d be
the creature of whim, Phil was telling me about.”

The dark haired man smiled. “That’d be me.” Evan Bates at your service.”
He looked down at the caged chooks. “You brought chooks.” That made his smile
wider.

Cass picked up the cage. “You’re quick.”

Evan scratched his head. “You know, when Jo and Flo said you were
bringing them I thought the old girls had lost their minds.”

“Do you have a problem with chickens?” They were her pets. She couldn’t
leave them to fend for themselves when she went bush. They were like family.
Sort of.

He shrugged. “Nope. We like chickens here—preferably deep fried.”

“You fry my chickens and I will fry your ass.”

Evan arched one eyebrow. “That could be fun.” His gaze then traveled down
her body, lingering on her breasts, before moving down to her thong clad feet
and back up to her eyes.“What’re their
names?”

“How do you know I named them?” She had but that wasn’t the point. Do I look that obvious?

“You brought them all the way to the middle of nowhere. They have to be
important to you.”

The chooks were quiet as they watched him. Cass squared her shoulders.
“Mitzi and Bert.”

“Bert?”

“Yeah, what of it?”

“Bert is a boy’s name. This chook is a female,” he pointed out as he
reached for her bag.

“So?” Cass knew her tone was defensive but she wasn’t in the mood to deal
with a smart ass man.

Still smiling at her, he responded, “Nothing. So, one bag only?”

“I travel light.” She had left everything she owned at Lorelle’s place.
Not that ‘everything’ was much. It was an old television, a purple cane chair,
a sofa bed and an oversized panda she won at the Cairns show when she was twelve and was
reluctant to get rid of.

“Most women travel with all sorts of crap.”

“I’m not most women.”

Again, he looked her up and down. “Nope, you’re different all right.”

She wanted to ask what he meant by that but decided against it. She had a
feeling the answer would be complicated and right now she needed easy and
simple. “How far’s McNally’s?”

“It’s in the middle of town so that’d make it about five kilometers from
here.”

Monday, 28 April 2014

So, I was talking to a very good and wise friend about
various things, as we do, and the subject came up about underwear and the three
minute rule. What? You don’t know what the three minute rule is? To be honest, I didn’t know about it either. We
were talking about underwear and how you may notice it on someone and wonder how
comfortable it is or isn’t but essentially after three minutes it’s no longer
an interesting topic and underwear is just underwear. It is probably even more so a
three minute deal when you live with someone all the time and what’s covering a
derriere is same old same old so a three minute look sums up the
interest level.

I dunno. I think I want more when it comes to underwear
consideration time when it comes to important to look at underwear be they on significant
others or sexy men. I don’t want to be restricted to a glance or a
seen-it-all-before-look. I believe when it comes to the perusal of underwear there
should be no rules. Just my thoughts as someone who constantly wanders around the house in my underwear for longer than three minutes. I couldn't live with someone who was timing me and my underwear.

Thursday, 24 April 2014

"Jacqueline, is that the best
you can do?" He sent a sent a smashing blow towards her nose.

She only just dodged the black,
fisted boxing glove by retreating backwards, lightly on her feet as the rush of
air from the power of it shot over her nose. Refocusing, she aimed an uppercut
at his stomach."Don’t call me
Jacqueline."

He bowed his body backwards,
deflecting the punch. "Jackie, then."

Jack Katz smiled. She knew this man
of old. The games he played she enjoyed. "Do you want me to beat the shit
out of you?"

Magnus Wellsby snorted at that.
"Like you could. You’re just a girl, Jaq-ue-line."

Whack. Her fist connected with his jaw.
Jack had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes momentarily blink in pain. She
followed up with a hook to his stomach. The involuntary sound of oomph from him made her smile. He never
gave away any feelings or emotions unless caught off guard. Like now.
"You’re getting old, Squiggly." She danced around him punching the
air waiting for him to re-group. "How old are you anyway?" He was her
colleague, boss and mentor. He annoyed the hell out of her with his attitude
and fascinated her with the mystery that surrounded him. One minute he was
obvious, the next obtuse and confusing. Jack called him 'Squiggly' due to his
dark, bushy eyebrows that looked like they had been haphazardly drawn on.
Those, and his curly hair, made her think of squiggles. Of course he was the
least ‘Squiggly’ man she had ever met. There was a deep, magnetic intensity
about him that was both powerful and frightening.Calling him Squiggly, in her mind, slightly
leveled the playing field they were on.

"Why? You interested in
me?"

She bounced back and forward in
front of him. Could he knock her on her ass? Absolutely. Would he? Absolutely.
That was their relationship. Equal, yet not so.Jack wasn’t silly enough to think she knew everything about the dark
haired man.In some ways it was probably
best not to. There was a scary, intense edge to him hidden behind a charming
smile. "Well, when the paramedics come it would be helpful to be able to
give them your approximate age."It
was then she caught her sneakered toe on the edge of a rubber exercise mat and
hit the floor, landing hard on her side. The fall jarred her. She rolled over
and looked up at her opponent.Jack knew
being vulnerable at any stage with him was dangerous.

He laughed. "On your back,
where you should be, Katz." Magnus charged her, giving no quarter.

Jack scrambled
onto her knees and crawled fast along the ground. It wasn't dignified but it
wasn't meant to be. She was only looking to get enough distance between them in
order to get to her feet. Once up, Jack repositioned her stance. Left foot
forward while her right was behind giving her strength. Her red gloved fists
guarded her face. She liked boxing. It was good cardio that kept her reflexes
strong and Squiggly was a good opponent. Unlike other men she boxed with, he
treated her like an equal and pulled no punches. Neither did Jack. "Bring
it on, Squiggly-man."Magnus
charged her, fists flying, making her continuously back away. She knew she
needed to get in a position where she could force him back but it was hard.He just kept coming.

"This enough
for you, Katz? Do you need more? Something harder or deeper? More out of
control? I know you like it like that."

She did. But not
boxing. They both knew that. "I’d wear you out of we had sex." Jack
was starting to sweat, trying to avoid contact with him.

He laughed at
that. "I may not want to have sex with you." Magnus threw a long
armed punch.

Jack managed to
avoid it. Just. "That’s true. I’ve often wondered whether you like men
better."

Friday, 18 April 2014

So, I'm picking up Rosie, a kelpie with a dash cattle dog in
her, next Tuesday from the homeless shelter after I come back from a trip to
the middle of nowhere. Yesterday I bought food and stuff so I had everything
when she wanders in. Last night I put together what initially appeared to be a simple
dog bed. Simple-my-arse. First of all the instructions were completely wrong
for me. I think they were written for someone else...like a man. I did almost
consider calling a very good male friend and requesting him to 'fix it please'.
But I didn't. I girded my loins and with Allen key in hand I put the dog bed
together upside down. $#^%!!!! I looked at it, upside down and thought, "That's
fine. I can live with that." Then I looked again and thought "%^&*!!!
Damn it, I have to pull it apart." Once apart I assessed all the pieces
very, very carefully and even retrieved the instructions from the bin and after
careful consideration I put it together upside down - again. %^&*!!!! What!!! I
stopped and had a coffee and assessed the problem deciding it was a either a left
or right brain puzzle and I hate puzzles and I absolutely knew that the
instructions were wrong - stupid instructions - and none of this could possibly be my fault .
And yes, I did consider super gluing that sucker together or tying it up. After
another cup of coffee and a lot slapping around the face, I struggled for
another 40 minutes to get the thing together. After a lot of swearing and maybe
the generous application of hammer to metal, the dog bed was done. See? Easy. No problem.

Sunday, 6 April 2014

I was reading this book, part of a series, by a well known
paperback writer and I was about four pages into it when I found out a character
died. Just like that. He's dead. I
flicked back a couple of pages to make sure I hadn't missed anything and that
pages weren't stuck together. I checked the series number of the book to make
sure I hadn't skipped a book in between - but no, the character was dead. I
avidly read on trying to work out what had happened, how the heroine was coping
and wondering what she would do next now that this person had left her life. I
liked that the heroine was pretty stoic, albeit heartbroken, about it and that
she was getting on with her life wondering what she was supposed to do as I was
wondering what she was going to do.

To me, this is a good writer and a good book. Make me think.
Make me wonder. Too few people write those books and when you find them, that's
golden for a reader. It beats the hell out of shag the heroine for 99 pages with
a plot on one page to suggest credibility.

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